


Resident Evil: Reimagined

by JH_Moller



Category: Resident Evil (Movieverse)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-03 17:36:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10972116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JH_Moller/pseuds/JH_Moller
Summary: I want to reimagine and maybe rethink some of the movies' scenes from a femslash flashfic perspective. So I am going to.





	1. all tied up and with no place to go

There is a lingering taste in her mouth, a mix of dirt and salt water, with something metallic as an angry aftertaste. Something that makes her scared and strong in equal measures. Her heart is beating erratically in her chest, like a boxer knowing they’re about to go down, but they’re still fighting with their every last inch of effort, every last breath. Her body at war with itself. As if the blood inside her veins is ice, her arteries lava, each time it flows through her heart it explodes in another punch, looking for that knockout. Her mind - she knows it’s not hers. It’s a blanket covering an empty slate, it’s wool, it’s confusion. No memories, no feelings, only urgent impressions. The rough rope against her wrists, the rough metal against her back, the sounds of a crackling fire, the cold dancing across her exposed stomach and arms, seagulls screaming, the scent of the woman staring at her, asking her questions as if there’s supposed to be a language or words with which she can reply. There is neither. All there is are the deep breaths and having her lungs fill over and over again with the foreign scent that feels as at home in her nose as it does in her mind, and a building inexplicable anger because of it.

She tries to swim through to the surface of her mind, to clear the wool, to calm down the boxer in her chest. But the woman keeps throwing questions at her, harsh questions that cut like daggers, blades searing the flesh off her bones. She knows that’s an exaggeration, somehow knowing this from experience. Experiences locked away like a nightmare treasure somewhere beneath the blanket of wool that covers everything besides this very moment. She grinds her teeth as her tongue grows heavier with each syllable passing between them, with each syllable thrown at her she can feel her own language returning, but the questions somehow locks her words away inside of. Even if there are words there is no answer, her tongue remains mute in her mouth with nothing but the metallic taste lingering on it.

“Does any of this sound familiar?” the woman asks.

She continues to stare at the stranger who only briefly meets her eyes in between all the questions. She stares at her with fire, trying to wordlessly return that inexplicable anger and a growing sense of loss. The other woman doesn’t notice, she seems to be as locked inside her own being, the stranger’s tongue as wild and unpredictable as the blood inside her own body, creating a wall of words around her.

Eventually there is silence. There is absolutely nothing between them, no words, no language, no understanding that connects them, only something that feels like danger, but causes no fear.

She blinks and finds the woman has moved, now so close she can almost feel a warmth radiate off her. So close she can hear the faint sounds of the fabric shifting as the woman rolls her shoulders. She blinks again. Maybe she fell asleep. Maybe she lost consciousness. But when she opens her eyes again the woman is still there, still quiet, but with a look in her eyes that - the woman says a name, she knows it’s a name instinctively, but it never reached her ears in full. The impression of the sound drowned in the sensation of the woman reaching out and placing a hand on her cheek. She refuses to shy from the touch that feels both warm and rough, but her jaws clench painfully in reaction.

“I’m sorry,” the woman says, but it doesn’t make sense. The words hold meaning, but they’re still incomprehensible.


	2. "Alright."

“Alice, I’m not-”

Why won’t the words we want to say the most fall from our lips? Why are the words we need to say the most locked down and out of service? Why are the emotions we want to escape the emotions we can’t deny?

“You know I’m right.”

She’s sitting there, right in front of Claire, in all her battered glory. There’s no denying it’s Alice, the Alice she knows and held dear. Holds dear to be more correct. Not nearly as dead as Claire had feared her to be. No, there she is. The Alice she remembers. From the scar mapping the muscles in her shoulder to that look in her eyes. How would she even describe that look? Annoyed, but gentle at the same time? That same confusing cocktail of emotions that threw Claire for such a loop all those years ago in the Nevada desert. Unsure, but confident. Soft and dangerous. It just sounds like clichés and maybe they are. 

As Claire looks at her something falls into place. She’s been down this road before, arguing won’t change a thing. No, Alice takes that as a reason to push harder, to sacrifice more of herself. Claire has no interest in seeing or experiencing any of that, again. Twice is enough. Twice was enough to reduce her heart to rubble and for her spirit to...fizzle. It sits as a heavy truth in Claire’s chest, because she knows she’s already admitted defeat. She's sleepwalking through the motions. She’s surviving, feeding her body, but otherwise she’s close to being as present as the undead surrounding them. She’s lost everything, everyone. With the exception sitting right in front of her, the exception who is currently talking about committing suicide.

It’s in that moment she realises that she can’t berate Alice for what's she's planned. For giving up her hope of surviving, because Claire beat her to it. Arcadia destroyed her. But even if there’s hardly anything of Claire left--well whatever there is, it refuses to lose Alice. It refuses to let her go. She can’t. Which means there’s only one solution. 

“Alright.”

They’re going to do this. And this is the final thing they will do. But they will do it together. 

Now all Claire needs to do is to make sure Alice stays alive long enough to kill herself. And as disturbing as that is, it also gives Claire a reason. With that reason something inside of her wakes up from its slumber. 

"We stop Isaacs here."


End file.
